


your partner in crime

by blanchtt



Series: mine tonight [1]
Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 23:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12781701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: They’d barely made it to check-out at the previous hotel on time, hindered by small mishaps; misplaced keys, hasty last-minute packing, and Therese kissing her one last time before they left the room, which of course had not stayed one kiss but turned into many more.





	your partner in crime

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting a few deleted fics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomorrow, Carol had calculated as she had driven them through a dreary corner of South Dakota, they would have to wake at six on the dot to be ready to check out on time. It would be a feat if they succeeded - deadlines were difficult for them, to say the least.

 

On the road there were none, something incredibly easy to get used to. If they were hungry they could stop for a meal, and if they were tired of driving there was always the side of the road to pull over to, to sit and talk and smoke. They’d barely made it to check-out at the previous hotel on time, hindered by small mishaps; misplaced keys, hasty last-minute packing, and Therese kissing her one last time before they left the room, which of course had not stayed one kiss but turned into many more. It was just so difficult for each of them to stay on time, and together they had enabled each other, lateness becoming a habit. 

 

Carol resists the urge to open her eyes. She’s awake, yes, but she can still force herself to lie in bed, in the darkness of their double room, and _try_ to sleep. It is exceedingly quiet, except occasionally for the sound of Therese’s deep breaths, almost sighs, the silence unbroken by even a car or truck driving by given the hour. The longer she stays awake, Carol chastises herself, having learned from experience, the more difficult morning will be. 

 

But despite her better judgement, she opens her eyes anyways, knowing it means she won’t easily fall back to the fitful sleep she had woken from. The room comes into focus in dark shadows - the black shape over there is the dresser, the almost-grey square in the corner only light from outside seeping in through the drapes.

 

She is never quite on time which is largely her own fault and often for no particular reason, she admits, thinking. But she _can_ wake up on time if circumstances call for it. Therese, though. Carol smiles. The girl was like a cat, the ability to sleep wherever and whenever the mood took her meaning she could often find Therese curled in her seat in the car as they drove late at night or fast asleep even in a tiny, vaguely uncomfortable bed in some no-name hotel. It was always with an apology that she woke her up.

 

At the end of the day she often felt similarly exhausted and disposed toward sleep, having earlier dropped into bed after dinner with nothing more than a tired kiss to Therese’s cheek. Carol had wanted to give her more, could see a tightness in Therese’s movements that made it clear that rest was the last thing from her mind, but she had been tired after so long driving, and of course Therese was too considerate to keep her up.

 

And so now, rested, sleep eludes her, awake and stifling under the covers. Carol turns over quietly so as not to wake Therese - an impossibility, she is beginning to think - sheets twisting around her like vines before she kicks them away with the barest rustle and creak of bedsprings. She settles on her other side, and arches up to reach under her head and flip her pillow, finally lying her head down on the cooler side. 

 

Was there a worse time to be left alone with morose thoughts that in the middle of the night, the only one up? Eventually she’ll have to give up running, Carol knows with a heavy heart, and puts the thought from her mind firmly before the disgusting idea of the tapes can take hold and spoil the rest of the night. But that won’t be today, and certainly not tomorrow; not after waking up to Therese’s positively radiant smile, the sleepy-rough voice wishing her good morning, the invitation to skip breakfast and slip under the covers with her. 

 

She glances over in the dark as Therese sighs again, shifts, and turns over before going still again. Even leaning against the seat of the car when she sleeps it is seemingly deep and dreamless - in that Therese was an excellent bed-partner, neither tossing nor turning. With nothing but a very long stretch of quiet and solitude to look forward to, Carol contemplates standing, walking over to the desk and sitting, turning on the little lamp to study the map and choose their route for the morning, or maybe even dressing, throwing on her coat, and going to see if the bar is still open. 

 

In the silence between them it is all too easy to be aware of Therese. There is nothing else to focus on, except for either Therese or her own thoughts. From the other bed comes another breath, a rustle of sheets - and then a long exhale, which Carol contributes first to an understandable restlessness but, slowly, realizes is too lengthy, too cognizant to be one of sleep.

 

She props herself up, elbow digging into the mattress and eyes straining in the dark. Despite her joking with Abby neither of them are particularly old. She _wants_ as much as Therese clearly does, Therese with her brazen glances and self-certain requests, a side of her Carol would very much like to see more of. Perhaps she’s just been given that. 

 

She rises fluidly, quietly, but Therese must be all too aware of just how close their beds lay and of what she’s doing. In the dark Carol can’t see her go still, but imagines that Therese freezes quite suddenly, and she certainly must be holding her breath. For her to feel caught, as if she’s done something wrong, is the last thing she wants.

 

Carol moves swiftly, steps over to her bed, and careful not to jostle her sits at the very edge of it, a hand reaching out, to comfort her, and which comes to rest on her knee under the covers.

 

“Therese,” she says, and swallows. She is disappointed in herself to have left her wanting so, and at the same time oddly flattered. She strokes Therese’s knee slowly, feels her way in the dark, and speaks again, highly aware of the heat the words bring to her face. “You don’t have to stop.”

 

Therese doesn’t move, and Carol wonders embarrassed if she’s asked for too much, damn it, just like she always does, and ruined everything. An apology on the tip of her tongue - _completely out of line, I’m sorry_ \- and the urge to walk back over to her bed and ask Therese to forget she’d even gotten up have her opening her mouth to speak.

 

But in the dark she finally sees Therese sit up, scoot away from her, but only to sit with her shoulders against the headboard, watching her, and everything has so quickly been turned on its head, leaving her exposed and wanting, that she hardly realizes Therese has not asked her to leave. Rather, the opposite. Quite suddenly Carol senses the tension lift like a mist, Therese’s shoulders above the edge of the blanket relaxing, the even breaths returning. 

 

“I’ve never - ”

 

“Neither have I.”

 

The equal footing seems to calm her. Carol sits forward, and wonders if she dares push her luck again. She does. To observe would be beautiful, but to truly _see?_ She reaches for the corner of the blanket, asking, “May I?”

 

“Yes,” Therese answers shyly. Carol turns down the covers, and moves to settle further onto the bed, sitting before Therese with legs tucked neatly under herself. It is not so dark that they can’t see each other, and particularly because of the pale champagne color of the negligee Therese is wearing Carol can approximate the way it falls on her, on the slight curves of her breasts and waist and hips. She’d lent her a spare one when Therese had asked for pajamas earlier, out of kindness and of her own selfish interest, though perhaps she hadn’t been the only one with a less than innocent motive. 

 

When she had asked if Therese had thought of home at all in the time that they’ve been away, Therese had said no with surprising casualness. After she had first touched her, kissed her, and slid between her legs, after Therese had had a chance to catch her breath and she had asked her roguishly what she desired next, Therese had asked her plainly how to do the same to her. Therese is astoundingly open, though Carol doubts it has to do with being a product of her time more than with Therese’s own way of functioning. Flung out of space, indeed. It was incredibly endearing but at times profoundly shocking, a candid compliment followed only a change of a topic later by perspicacious questions - why can’t I look at you like that ( _because_ ), what’s so different about it ( _everything_ ), will anyone even notice ( _yes_ ) - questions that shook everything Carol knew to its foundations, and often followed by what had felt like disappointed silence when she had offered her best explanation and Therese in her youth and bravery had found it lacking. If there is anything she could take away from being with Therese, despite being older, it is that openness.

 

“Can I turn on the light?” Carol asks. 

 

“Yes,” Therese answers once more.

 

Of course with Abby it had never been at night, never been dark enough to need light. The affair had been about the physical aspect of sex, by and large. That was not to say that she had not found Abby attractive, and there had been the deep feelings of friendship between them that had made it seem like the answer. But it had failed to set something lasting aflame in her, and the spark of that had died after several months.

 

She had been lucky that after a good sulk Abby had been able to put the sting of it behind her, and return to their friendship unhurt and eager for dinner and a drink over which to catch up with her. Therese’s request that first night together had been a first. That Therese had wanted to see her, all of her, and touched her reverently, disbelievingly, with eyes only for her, and it had moved her. 

 

Carol reaches out, grasps the end of the chain of the lamp that sits on the table between their beds and tugs, and as she sits back the light brings focus to what she already knows is there. Therese sitting before her against the headboard, a touch of apprehension to her expression but legs spread regardless. The hem of the negligee sits pushed up to her waist, one hand resting between her thighs and the other out of sight, thought no doubt palm-down against the mattress. Carol can see that two fingers are slick from when she’d interrupted Therese, and she feels a rush of warmth between her own legs. 

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

The context could not possibly be more different from the countless times she’d asked before, on those undefined nights when they had drank and done each other’s make-up all while leaning in much too close or over the breakfasts where Therese had handed her something as nondescript as a packet of sugar or spoon or napkin but had caused her to smile as their hands touched, when she had yearned but hadn’t dared to hope for something between them beyond mere friendship, and then finally had been floored to find it.

 

Therese closes her eyes, and Carol moves and slips closer, kneeling between her legs. When Therese hesitates to move, she places a hand on her knee reassuringly, and watches as Therese’s hand finally trails over herself, lingering, deciding.

 

“Of you,” Therese answers steadily. Fingers dip and slide between her folds, and then with the twitch of her hips to accommodate sink deep enough to pull a whimper from her, and Carol presses a kiss to her knee absently, and watches.

 

“And?” she presses, gently.

 

“We’re in your car.” Therese’s voice wavers, quickens a shade, and Carol presses her thighs together. Damned if she hadn’t thought of the very same thing herself and passed it off as a dream, never to happen. Where could they possibly find the place, the privacy to do so? A car pulled over to the side of the road always drew the attention of good Samaritans, and despite the tantalizing idea, being slapped with a court hearing for public indecency or god forbid arrested on top of everything else would be not only mortifying but disastrous. The other options had not been enticing, either. Parking garage - uncouth, absolutely not. Drive-in - too many people. 

 

“The back seat?” Carol asks, and Therese nods. Her pace is slow, but no doubt enjoyable given how she tilts her head back, the lift of her shoulders off the headboard as she arches her back. With Therese’s eyes closed Carol is free to let her gaze roam. Her bared throat begs to be kissed, and the string-thin strap of the negligee nudged off of her shoulder. Without the warmth of the blanket over her Therese’s nipples peak, teasing under the silky fabric, and Carol keeps her hands splayed against Therese’s knee though she’d like nothing more than to touch, to kiss and lick and bite. 

 

“Yes.”

 

Carol can already imagine how it would work out - the movement of the two of them retreating to the slightly more inconspicuous back seat. And then what? Perhaps Therese would settle in her lap, let her hands roam over her; or would she be the one to find Therese between her legs, her own dress hiked up and fingers filling her? She trembles briefly at the thought. From their current positions the former is more probable than the latter, though, and she smiles. “And you’re sitting - ”

 

“You press me down onto the seat,” Therese says, and the image in Carol’s mind rearranges itself at her admission. There is Therese laid out on her back on the seat as much as possible in the cramped space, and her between her legs, hips hitched hard against her. The scenario is exhilarating in its banality, to fool around in the backseat of a car like teenagers. And banal perhaps not even a word that does it justice, when doing so is something so simple, so thoughtlessly easy for everyone else, yet unattainable for them. She had remembered with both a fierce jealousy and dispassionate inability to understand when her friends with sweethearts had begun to talk about what went on in the backs of cars, deserted library aisles, behind bleachers. She had wanted that, but it had taken longer for it to dawn on her with whom she wanted it with.

 

It is her turn to swallow, and Carol squeezes her knee to let Therese know she is still with her. “What are you wearing?”

 

At that Therese opens her eyes, smiling coyly. “That dress you seemed to like, with the collar. I wore it to dinner in Iowa.”

 

“The grey one?" Carol asks, remembering back, and Therese nods. She had not stared, but perhaps the overzealous compliment she had paid Therese had given her away. “You look very lovey in it,” she admits, and Therese loses her rhythm for a beat, smiles at her again before closing her eyes and finding it easily. Fingers dip and withdraw, and Carol has the sudden urge to wrap her own fingers lightly around Therese’s wrist, to draw her close if she would let her, to take her fingers into her mouth and taste Therese. “I think I would be wearing my red one,” Carol says, the words coming out stiffly before she adds smoothly, softer, “Don’t you agree?” A nod from Therese, and she continues. “And then?”

 

“You kiss me, of course,” Therese offers, and the honest, unassuming confidence nearly makes Carol laugh aloud, has her wanting to reach out, to urge Therese close and make it happen. _Later_ , she tells herself. From where she kneels Carol shifts, sliding a fraction closer - her own thighs touch Therese’s, and her legs open wider, accepting. 

 

“But that’s not all I do,” Carol coaxes, and Therese shakes her head.

 

“No,” Therese agrees. Carol watches as she bites her lip, teeth grazing her lower lip before letting go, mouth open as Therese slides lower against the headboard, nearly in her lap. “You’re rocking against me,” Therese continues breathily. “Between my legs.”

 

“How could I not,” Carol agrees, and reaches out to trail fingertips along the inside of her thigh, but careful to keep away from Therese’s own motions, still unbearably slow. Therese is growing to know her well in only a few nights. If she weren’t so pleased, she’d be embarrassed. But the picture is not complete yet. “And where are my hands in all of this?” Carol asks, curious to know. “What are they doing?” That may be as far as Therese had gotten in her scenario before she had interrupted her, because Therese pauses. 

 

“What would you like them to be doing?” Therese finally asks boldly, her answer.

 

Carol smiles at the turn of direction. “What would I like?” she repeats. Therese strokes languidly, but the rise and fall of her chest betrays her, the almost imperceptible trembling of her body. “I would like for you to enjoy yourself, and so I would still be kissing you, of course,” she teases, and rests her hand back on Therese’s knee, withholding. “I would need a hand to hold myself up, regrettably, because I wouldn’t want to lean on you too heavily. But the other I would run along your thigh, because I adore them so.”

 

Therese in garters has not yet failed to excite her and Carol doubts it ever will; neither does the sway of her skirt, the gentle, searching press of her lips against her own, or the wetness that she knows she is the cause of, everything Therese does imbued with an essence of undeniable femininity that will never stop drawing Carol to her. “As for your stockings I think I should like to leave them on, because it would take too long to undo it all and slip it off, especially in the space, and because I like you in them.” 

 

Therese’s hand finally goes still, and she opens her eyes, dark and expectant. “And?”

 

It is a presumptuous move, but Carol reaches out, clasps lightly around Therese’s wrist and eases her away. Sliding back only to allow them enough room to use, she grasps Therese’s hips, and careful of the headboard tugs Therese down onto the bed, on her back. With Therese’s thighs on either side of her hips Carol leans forward, holds herself up but dips low enough to brush against her, for her own negligee to bare a good deal of thigh, and then to feel Therese arch up, to find arms around her shoulders and ankles cross behind her to hold her close, the length of them pressed tightly together. 

 

“And then, darling,” Carol continues, her own voice catching as her hand slips in what little space remains between them, as she dips fingers against Therese and finds her slick. “Then, because I’m sure we wouldn’t want to draw it out any longer, because we’ve got so many other things to do and see yet - I would slip aside your panties, and I would hope to find you wet, for me?”

 

“Of course, of course,” Therese repeats, and then there are hands cupping her jaw, Therese kissing her and whimpering against her lips, “Oh, Carol - _please_.”

 

At that she moves. She hears Therese gasp outright as she enters her tenderly, finding her wet enough to accept a finger with ease. She’s barely got time to let her adjust before “Another” is breathed in her ear, and she withdraws and then obliges. Bracing herself, Carol adds the roll of her hips to the mix. The last thing she’d like to be with Therese is rough. But that does not preclude slow, firm strokes, all the weight of her added behind them, the kind that with each hitch draws a sharp intake of breath from Therese. 

 

Therese’s arms are around her shoulders again, pulling her close with fingers and nails pressed against her skin. With her motions the room has quickly gone from an unremarkable temperature to too warm, curls limp from sleep now sticking to the back of her neck. “Shh,” Carol soon soothes, because Therese has begun to grow louder. Hardly her fault, but they still have to be careful.

 

She finds a satisfactory rhythm, reveling in all of Therese’s sounds and of her hands on her, caressing; at the feel of Therese hot and slick around her, for her; and at the length at which they can make love. That first night, with the tug of her own robe belt she’d started two things she feared and had come to realize she would and did lose control of almost instantly - her own emotions, running rampant, and the insatiable appetite in Therese who it was becoming more and more clear was equally as smitten with her.

 

Did she regret it? Therese kisses the curve of her jaw, breath hot agains her, and Carol knows the answer, whatever the consequence may be, is _absolutely not_.

 

Finally when her muscles behind to warm uncomfortably, thighs and arms beginning to tremble and forearm cramping, Therese’s nails dig into her shoulder hard, and Carol feels her tighten around her, her breathless gasp. 

 

Therese holds tight to her for a good moment before letting go, sinking back down onto the bed, and Carol follows. Therese moves gingerly to give her more space, and Carol lets her limbs go slack as she lies next to her. If only she’d thought to turn off the thermostat before starting all of it - she reaches down, grabs the hem of her negligee between her fingers and with the tilt of her hips and then shoulders pulls it up and over herself, letting it fall off the side of the bed. 

 

Therese turns onto her side, toward her, and smiles tiredly, the strap of the negligee falling off her shoulder. “Are you sleepy?”

 

Carol reaches out, sweeps her thumb up Therese’s arm and nudges the strap back where it should be. “No, you’ve done quite a thorough job of waking me up.” She catches Therese’s gaze, smiling, and Therese purses her lips, a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction at her words. Although she’s nude now, it’s no requirement for Therese to do anything. “Are you?”

 

“I think it would only be fair if you’d let me return the favor,” Therese offers.

 

As much as Carol would like that, she’s still back to square one, or perhaps even further back at this point - far from sleepy and with the metaphorical clock still ticking away. “We’ve got to be up at six,” she reminds her, and watches Therese’s crestfallen expression. Carol reaches out, touches her hip. It’s not a rejection, but a deferment. “If you must, I’d prefer it to be in the shower where we can complete two tasks at once.”

 

Therese sighs at her practical plan, reluctant, and to placate her Carol opens her arms. “Alright.” 

 

It’s uncomfortable for a moment, Therese as warm as she is, but soon enough the room returns to its comfortable temperature, and in her arms Therese is close enough to draw meaningless shapes against her with her fingertips. With that and Therese's even breathing, it is easy for Carol to close her eyes and keep them shut, though she can feel that sleep, _real_ sleep, is still far off.

 

As she lets Therese doze off against her Carol wonders if with that promise tomorrow Therese will, for once, be the first one awake.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
